


no one ever said (a Falls the Shadow remix)

by sweetiejelly



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Reincarnation, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6567340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiejelly/pseuds/sweetiejelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first time they said goodbye, in the most painful manner possible, it was not a proper goodbye at all but a forgetting and an act.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	no one ever said (a Falls the Shadow remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Falls the Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325875) by [Cookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie/pseuds/Cookie). 



  
_Nobody said it was easy_  
_No one ever said it would be so hard_  
_Oh, take me back to the start_  
\- Coldplay

  

Morning sun in his eyes. A blink: darkness/light. Light pooling in the centre of a figurine, piercing glass. Then up, up, to a piercing glance.

"You have my trust," the stranger tells him, deposits the unicorn in his palm, and walks away.

Arthur closes his fingers over delicate glass (reflex) then opens again to stare. To say he's having a most bizarre morning is an understatement.

Still, lectures do not attend themselves, alas.

He makes it through his eight o'clock, barely, his mind in a haze, thoughts still fixed on the dark haired stranger with the funny scarf. Familiar? Yes. A name? No.

He sits through a second class and picks apart the stranger's words (foregoing the once-, no, make that _twice_ -over of the stranger's lips, that luscious mouth). _Trust._ Who trusts a stranger? Who, above the age of five?

It's not till his third lecture, as he's retracing the word 'unicorn', that the world itself seems to blink. A shadow passes over the wall – a flock of pigeons taking flight from some sudden fright. The movement dislodges a memory: a unicorn forged in firelight – no, _born_ of magic, real.

Then ten thousand more – Camelot, dragons, knights and queens, a whole other lifetime. And– 

_Merlin._ (More than a name.)

A caress — golden, shy, _joyful_ — lingers over his cheek, warmer than any light. _Hi._

Arthur leans into it, into Merlin's magic, as he's always done. _You! Of course it is. Hello, old friend._

*

*

*

The first time they said goodbye, in the most painful manner possible, it was not a proper goodbye at all but a forgetting and an act. Merlin forgot (with a little help from a spell) and Arthur – Arthur gritted his teeth and acted his part.

He tried his best, in any case, and fought his way through. It was what he knew to do – fighting. Trained since birth as it were.

He fought his words, teasing, flirting, comforting words, as they bubbled up unbidden to the tip of his tongue. He fought his thumbs, tucking them away, resisting every urge to touch, to brush over Merlin's shoulder or to trace the back of his hands.

He fought his habits, frowns and confusion as knocks now preceded meals. Knocks on the door and a questioning, "Sire?" (Ah, not Merlin. That was it. Other servants knocked.)

He fought through those first ungraceful, stuttering days crammed full of abortive movements. He fought and he won.

It was dreadful.

It was only phase one.

*

Daisy — or rather, Oswaldtwistle, which was her real name, which Merlin refused to acknowledge — was the start of phase two of Arthur's plan.

Arthur had selected her especially for Merlin because the stable master once remarked that he would entrust his daughter's life with the mare. Arthur wanted a dependable horse for his manservant. It was more efficient, he told himself, logical. He _needed_ Merlin to keep up with him.

Not wanting Merlin to hurt himself riding had nothing to do with it. And sure, Merlin loved her on sight, eyes lit up and smile lit up, his whole _person_ lit up with joy, but no, that wasn't a factor either. Neither of those were reasons why Daisy was Merlin's horse.

Both of them, however, were reasons why she wasn't Merlin's horse _today._

 _Hate me_ , Arthur thought in Merlin's direction. But Merlin — even upon hearing the lie that Arthur had sent her to the stallion — Merlin only frowned and pushed out his bottom lip.

Sad then, and disappointed.

Not nearly good enough for phase two.

Frustrated, Arthur stepped forward with vitriol, spitting out words he didn't mean, lined with all the impatience that he _did_ feel. _Hate. Me._

"No need to be rude," Merlin responded at last.

It was an in, enough.

Arthur didn't give himself time to think, marched right up and smacked the side of Merlin's head, like he'd tried to imagine it in his chambers this morning, like he'd seen Uther do to other servants in the past. Best as he could, he channelled his father, recently deceased, dead with the aid of magic. For a moment, Arthur let his grief harden the look in his eyes.

It seemed to work.

It seemed to work too well.

Arthur couldn't linger on Merlin's face, the pain and shock twisted there in his eyes, his mouth. Swiftly, Arthur mounted his horse and rode out of the courtyard. He had to get away from Merlin, away from what he'd done.

Gwaine caught up to him, caught onto what had happened. For once he was silent, blissfully.

At least for a minute.

"Don't look back, Princess. You might fall off your horse. And then where would we be?"

Arthur almost rolled his eyes because – well, _Gwaine_. But he was grateful too, for the support of his knight, cased as it were in teasing.

Another stretch of peace — nothing but the clop-clop-clop of hooves over the trail and the fap-fap-fap of wind under their capes, then–

"So, this egg – how big do you think it is? Half a breakfast? A _whole_ breakfast?"

Arthur let Gwaine distract him. They weren't, after all, really in pursuit of Julius Borden, riding though they were in the same direction, to the Tower of Ashkanar. Instead, their real mission was delivering Merlin, the last Dragonlord (even if Merlin didn't remember being Dragonlord at the moment). If anyone were to save the last dragon egg, it was him. Arthur knew this. Gwaine too. After all, he was the only one in on all the plans, including Merlin and Arthur's Grand Plan.

"Bet it'd be perfect with sausage and ale," Gwaine was saying. "Throw in some apples and it'd be-" Gwaine kissed his fingers and tipped his hair back. He almost drooled, in fact. Apples and ales got him that way.

It was easy, familiar, this companionship. Arthur found he craved it now more than ever in the weeks since he'd distanced himself from Merlin.

How had he never noticed before how much _space_ Merlin took up in his life? How much _noise_ Merlin made with his prattle? How much he loved it all?

But here they were. Now he knew.

*

Nightfall took an eternity. Arthur wanted to check on Merlin, but it wouldn't do in front of company, in broad daylight. And by gods, did the daylight play on.

First came riding and more riding, with minimal rests, getting far enough to take them halfway to the tower. (Merlin didn't need any delays, any more days atop an unfamiliar horse.)

Finding suitable camp, at least, took no time. Arthur spotted it straight away: a wooded glade, dry, with a stream nearby.

Merlin approved of his selection, aiming a sweet smile at him. It took several pinches (mental) for Arthur not to respond. You _idiot_ , he thought, and wasn't sure just whom he meant. Merlin for still looking at him with approval (possibly adoration) or Arthur himself for wanting to hoard that approval (adoration) and offer it all back with teasing, with smirks.

Setting up camp went worse. Percival volunteered to help Merlin as usual and Arthur had to stop it, stop it with disparaging remarks for Merlin no less. Percival hesitated, clearly loyal to his friend, who was as good as an honorary knight. It took a kind smile from Merlin — _it's all right_ (it wasn't) — and Merlin physically turning away to start work before Percival moved towards Arthur and the other knights, the proffered wine.

Arthur's heartbeat quickened, thump-thumping against the weight of the amulet under his tunic. Merlin had given him the charm a couple of weeks ago, right before they started this charade. Merlin was protecting him still, Arthur realised, even now, even without magic.

"–wine on my cape," Gwaine said loudly, startling Arthur out of his thoughts.

"Go on, kiss it then." Leon elbowed him.

Gwaine elbowed back and it was done. Arthur was in the present, his knights beside him. Their faces brought him a smile at least. Their faces and the wine. 

It was only when his gaze fell upon Merlin that Arthur's smile faltered. This recent escalation, from ignoring Merlin to abusing and belittling him, was proving difficult to swallow. Why did Merlin have to come up with _this_ plan? Why did Merlin say 'use me' as if his well-being was of no consequence? True, this plan had the best chance of success. Still, having to wound Merlin (pride and flesh and heart), Arthur hated this part with a passion.

"I'll forgive you," Merlin had promised before they started. "Whatever happens, whatever you have to do, Arthur."

Arthur wasn't so sure he would forgive himself. Not that he shared the thought with Merlin. It was his burden to carry, his alone. Merlin had all the rest.

Merlin had all the chores anyway, as though he had not a friend in the group, when in fact he had a friend in each. Arthur tried to ignore his sharp worry when Merlin stumbled back to camp with firewood, swaying under their weight. With a clatter, Merlin dropped the lot. But he managed to keep his feet. Arthur breathed.

When the knights teased Merlin about having ate all of the food, Arthur noted the strain of Merlin's smile, how he was trying to hold onto the old normal.

Arthur frowned. Nothing about this trip, these past weeks was normal. Merlin must have realised this. Yet there was nary a breath of resentment in him, just a steady staccato of hurt and hope, hurt and hope that today Arthur's mood would break. That tomorrow Arthur's mood might break. That perhaps the day after...

Merlin really was too loyal.

Finally, Merlin was done with chores. Much as he struggled through his tasks, the idiot didn't once use magic. At least now he could rest. At least physically.

With a steadying look from Gwaine, Arthur banished Merlin from the fireside, to sleep beyond the ring of protection the knights offered. This was unusual to say the least. Merlin was always included, most times sleeping in a slant right next to Arthur. Arthur couldn't count how many times he'd woken with his boots tapping Merlin's.

As Merlin gathered up his supplies and turned from the fire, Leon gave in to a deep frown. Elyan pursed his lips. Percival looked after Merlin's back like he wanted to trade places. Only Gwaine behaved halfway normal as he heaved a cavernous yawn.

Arthur tried to look at no one, to peel his eyes away from the lump that was Merlin, curled up alone now facing the woods. Merlin lay so still. And when he moved, it was from shivering.

Arthur worried his rings with his thumb, dug his other fingers into his palm. He couldn't reach out to Merlin. Not yet. It wasn't yet his watch.

Not to mention, they had a plan. Arthur couldn't look back. Gwaine was right. He would fall right out of his metaphorical horse if he did. Then all of their meticulous planning would have been for naught. _I'm doing this_ for _Merlin_ , he reminded himself, _for Camelot, for Albion, for peace_.

Towards morning, when it was at last his watch, Arthur sat on the end of the log closest to Merlin (not far from where Percival stood guard). Now, he just had to wait until his knight fell asleep.

From his perch, Arthur tried (surreptitiously) to inspect Merlin's wound. But Merlin's hair was longer these days, curling protective over his ear.

Arthur shifted closer for a better angle but froze when he heard a noise. It was Leon, turning in his blankets. Arthur settled back down. Not two minutes later, an owl hooted, mocking his nerves. And on it went.

It was nearly dawn when Merlin moaned in his sleep, a pitiful sound. Arthur gave in, took the last steps to his side. The knights were asleep. No one would see. No one would know. Especially not Merlin.

Breath held, Arthur reached out, carefully brushed away dark strands of hair for a better look. What he saw made his heart drop. Merlin's head was swollen where his blow landed yesterday. The tender skin had bruised, turned purple. It was done. Phase two had begun.

Merlin sighed, as if reading Arthur's mind, and nuzzled Arthur's palm. Arthur swallowed down his fondness. This was not the time. Sure enough, Elyan stirred then, an elbow angling sharp towards the sky as he rubbed at his eyes. Thinking quick, Arthur retracted his hand, kicked Merlin awake instead.

They had such a long way to go.

*

As expected, Merlin stole the dragon egg. His posture became even more hunched over after, as if he were covering up his new secret with his wisp of a scarf.

Perhaps there were more than _one_ secret. Arthur didn't want to know. He couldn't help noticing, however, that something was off. He remembered eating dinner. He remembered waking. He had no memory of the in-between, none of keeping watch or of checking on Merlin. Not to mention, the campground looked glossy, the grass suspiciously green, taller than they were yesterday.

Something must have happened. Were they spelled to sleep? Knocked out mid-meal? Would Merlin be so bold? But what spell would make them sleep and yet the grass grow?

No. It had to be a healing spell. A big blast of it. _Merlin._

After the awful treatment of yesterday (longer than yesterday), Merlin still saved them, quietly and without expectations as he'd always done. Right this moment Merlin was the picture of obedience. He was quiet as he worked. He bent his head, averted his eyes. He kept well out of Arthur's way.

It made Arthur furious. One, because this was what magic did when magic had to be hid. Two, this plan they concocted to turn Merlin against him was going to be harder to execute than either had expected (and they'd expected it to take everything).

He wanted to kick something (only not Merlin).

Still, that was the quest completed. Now they could head back. Arthur would once again have court duties and training and sundry other excuses not to be near Merlin (not to hurt him).

When they returned, however, Merlin sought him out, doggedly, repeatedly, and always with such hope in his eyes. Arthur had to dodge and dodge, had to order him away each time.

Chilly dismissal and harsh words? Those he could manage. Those he had perfected over the weeks.

Actual infliction of pain – that Arthur did not want to do. Not to mention, Merlin needed time still, to recover from his concussion.

Only, Merlin was Merlin, and Merlin was as brave and determined as they came. He slipped into Arthur's room one night as if nothing had changed, as if they were still the Merlin and Arthur of old.

Merlin crouched and tended to the fire. In its light, he glowed golden, beautiful. The colours flared vivid, reminding Arthur of Merlin's eyes mid-magic. Arthur wanted to reach out and cup his cheek, soothe and apologise. He wanted to ask if Merlin's wound had recovered, if Merlin felt better yet.

Arthur closed his eyes. It didn't matter what he wanted. The plan was so much bigger than any of them. Merlin even called it destiny.

Only, with his eyes closed, Arthur recalled Merlin's magical fire creatures, the ones conjured out of joy, the ones that were only beautiful and never hurt anyone.

Arthur blinked, daydream into daymare, and gritted his teeth. Clearly there was no escaping Merlin anywhere. He might as well carry on with the plans.

Phase two. It was phase two.

He opened his mouth and another memory breezed in – Merlin teasing him about favouring the cook's honey tarts and needing a new doublet. Which – one, that was _not_ true and two, Merlin lied to him. Merlin had lied him over and over again about having magic by diverting his attention, by gods knew how else.

"Where's my blue doublet?" He demanded, voice coming out harsh and even angrier than he felt.

But Merlin being determined, foolhardy, answered cheekily, "What do you need it for?"

Any other day before the spell, before their plan, Arthur would have teased back. But he couldn't, not anymore. Resolve hardened, he set his jaws, held his tongue, (his breath), waited until Merlin turned to face him.

"Since _when_ have I been required to explain _anything_ to my _manservant_?" He bit out.

Merlin paled and immediately fetched the doublet from the wardrobe, laying it out on the bed when Arthur glared at his hands coming too close to Arthur's person.

Tension wrapped around them, straining every breath. Tentatively, Merlin started to help, help him dress.

Then Merlin's fingers slipped, skimmed warm against Arthur's neck.

Arthur flinched. Couldn't help it. Two memories had surfaced at once, one warm and the other ice.

One was an embrace, Merlin's arms around his waist, the sweet weight of Merlin's forehead against his back, back when they were friends on the cusp of more.

The second was the last time they _actually_ touched, when their contact left a mark on Merlin.

That mark was still there. The thought made him sick. He couldn't. Not again. This was Merlin whom he loved and couldn't love and must pretend to hate. This was Merlin.

 _So leave_. Gwaine's advice from days before rang in his head. Arthur was king. He _could_ leave when he wanted.

Hunting trip, he decided. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary (aside from the fact that Merlin wouldn't be going).

With unkind words, he informed Merlin thus, relegating him to the servant part of his title yet again, stripping the man out of it entirely.

Merlin stuttered, his eyes wide. He even half bowed and called Arthur sire. It felt wrong. _Not my Merlin_. It made Arthur's stomach churn. He couldn't leave fast enough.

As his horse galloped through the forest and cool air whipped across his face, the blue-green-browns of the scenery all a blur, Arthur's heart continued pounding and pounding and _pounding_ like it might burst through his rib cage, like it might punch clean through without magical assist.

Out of breath then, reckless, began phase three.

*

Three was company, as it were. Phase three rested entirely on other people treating Merlin as terribly as Arthur had done. Perhaps worse.

No, _definitely_ worse.

Arthur never despised so many of his own within his own castle. Even among the knights, there were too many of ignoble character, too many unknightly knights.

The worst of them had to be Merek and his sidekick Ulric. _Shoving_. At the moment, they were shoving Merlin between them like Merlin were a mere ball to be kicked, a bit of fun to be had.

Merek was especially loud, his laughs casting far and wide and ugly. Arthur wished he could say he was surprised. But if Arthur himself treated Merlin no better and Arthur couldn't reprimand these brutes –  and he couldn't –  then the likes of Merek and Ulrich would only do worse. Unfortunately, Arthur needed them to. The _plan_ needed them to.

He slowed his stride and watched as Ulrich hooted like a fool and manoeuvred a grim-looking Merlin back into Merek's grasp.

He caught Merlin's eyes darting about, seeking help. Thank the gods help was still available in the form of Leon and Percival, nobility and bulk. Only, Leon and Percival were not here right now. It was just Arthur on the scene.

Merlin caught sight of him and what tiny flicker of hope in his eyes went out just like that. It pained Arthur more than he could say. He strode up, couldn't help himself. He couldn't watch this, not any longer.

"If you've quite finished with your fun, training is about to start, gentlemen." The words tasted rotten in his mouth and felt worse upon their release.

Gentlemen. Gentlemen, his arse.

Still, with a final shove from Merek, Merlin was freed. Arthur frowned after the bullies. So the plan had a side effect – now he knew just which of the knights were worthy of Camelot, which were not.

Too late, he remembered that Merlin was still here, was probably watching him. Arthur composed himself and turned to face Merlin.

Dismissal, he told himself. Look past the sharper cheekbones, the looser clothes. Do _not_ take note of how Merlin had thinned, in flesh and in spirit. Just dismiss him.

So he did.

Merlin said nothing, but he had to purse his lips to say nothing. With a flare of nostrils, Merlin turned and took off in a run. A bit of fire at last! Arthur looked at his retreating back with a flutter of hope.

Now he just had to get through training without killing anyone.

*

Not killing anyone became a mantra in Arthur's life. There were a few good men and women. Guinevere was one. His knights, especially Gwaine and Percival and Leon. Arthur heaped his gratitude upon these few. When he conversed with them were the only times he found his smile these days.

Merlin became his darkest place. Merlin became a shadow, in fact, keeping to the walls, escaping to the least travelled corridors like a mouse.

And with every misdeed Arthur failed to stop, Agravaine grew bolder. His uncle went so far as to dare dismiss Gaius from the council. Outwardly, Arthur allowed it, barely reacted. Inwardly, it made him wish for magic, magic to inflict the worst kind of boils on his uncle. Idly, he wondered if Merlin had done it. He wished Merlin had done it.

But Merlin seemed completely defeated. That little flare of fire from weeks ago burnt out like it was never there. He was obedient to a fault, non-magical to a fault.

It took a particularly ugly look from Agravaine for Arthur to foist blame upon Merlin for whatever imagined slight Agravaine had felt. In his effort to elicit anything, any reaction at all, Arthur even used the buckle end of his belt as punishment.

God, the _sound_ it made.

Only, Merlin barely even flinched. He kept his back bowed, mouth shut.

Arthur couldn't sleep. He kept hearing the _whoosh-crack_ over Merlin's back like the worst ballad – _When A King Betrays His Warlock, Part One_.

It turned out Gwaine couldn't sleep either. Arthur found him nursing a drink under the moon and took the proffered mead.

They passed it between them until the ballad faded a touch.

“It's time,” Arthur finally said.

Gwaine nodded, took the bottle back, and drank some more.

*

Arthur reached the courtyard just as Merlin stormed off, eyes already bright with the threat of tears.

He looked to Gwaine and saw his knight frowning after Merlin. Gwaine was worried. That was plain to see. His knight didn't want to leave, leave his friend. Arthur caught Gwaine's eyes and gave a short nod. He wished he could say something, too.

Only, Agravaine was present. He was _ever_ present. Agravaine had already started in on Merlin, how he was the worst and most incompetent sort, had no sense of his place in court and how was he employed in the first place?

Arthur tuned him out, tried to. He wanted to hear none of it. Not to mention, Agravaine was wrong, so wrong as per usual. Merlin was too good for this place.

*

With Gwaine and the rest of his knights on extended patrol... No, that wasn't quite right.

 _Without_ Gwaine around to ground him, armed with ale and forgiveness, Arthur spiralled fast.

He did what he must. He visited Gaden once more. Gaden, the head jailer, that was. Gaden the head jailer who worked in the dungeon. Gods, it sounded like the start of a bad joke. A king walked into a dungeon to see the jailer about a sorcerer...

But the incident in the yard loomed large on his mind and Arthur knew it wouldn't be long before his hand was forced. He would have to sentence Merlin to be punished in earnest. The court would demand it. If not the court, then Agravaine, who had been waiting for any excuse to dismiss Merlin.

Arthur found Gaden at his post, his shadow draped over the wall like its own insignia.  Gaden, though a mountain of a man, was a good man, a fair man. Arthur saw it in his eyes even now.

"Sire."

Arthur leaned on the wall and waved off the formality. He had had too much of 'sire' this and 'sire' that these days. All of the servants were terrified they would be next, the next Merlin.

"What we discussed before–" Arthur swallowed down his bile as he saw the lashes on the wall, silent snakes just waiting to be sprung.

Gaden nodded. "I've prepared the softest one. It won't break skin. And I won't let him out of my sight."

Arthur could only nod. "Thank you."

Gaden inclined his head too. "It's the least I could do."

Yes, Arthur thought, this was the least he could do indeed.

Merlin was already hurt plenty, abused still, and Arthur was part of it. Merlin had become even more gaunt, and he was the root of it. All that were bright and beautiful in Merlin were shutting off one by one, like candles being snuffed out, room by room.

_It's my doing. My lead. Merlin's fall._

*

Arthur didn't care to track any longer which awful phase of the plan they were in. They were still not in the _final_ one, the one where he says the words he'd been longing to say, the ones that break the spell.

In the quiet of his chambers though, he whispered the words to himself, whispered them fiercely into the cup of his palms until he choked.

Today even those words didn't help. He'd jerked awake in the morning from the now-familiar nightmare: Merlin's back streaked red with lashes, Merlin's face wet with tears. In a daze, he'd stumbled from bed and promptly stubbed his toes. He couldn't find his comb.  His tunic wouldn't go on properly, one of its strings snagging on the amulet. Everything, everything reminded him of Merlin. The way Merlin used to smile… It'd been months.

Arthur sent a messenger to cancel the council meeting and just sat in bed and felt an incompetent king, the worst friend. His goblet of wine sat untouched on the table. Cool air brushed his back.

Harder, he pressed his eyes into his hands. He wasn't crying. He was just – exhausted.

Apparently too exhausted to notice that Merlin had entered the room. But then came a noise – a gasp that was Merlin through and through.

Arthur whipped his head around. “What are you doing here?”

His voice sounded wrong. He cleared his throat. It still felt closed up. He moved to the table, downed the drink in one big gulp.

“Sire, I'd like to request leave of absence to visit my mother.” Merlin said, his tone too respectful as it'd become these days and his head too bowed.

So it had come to this, to Merlin needing a break from Arthur, from this castle of despair.

“No.” Arthur wanted to cry in earnest. He'd done this. He'd finally driven Merlin away from him. But still his answer had to be no. Merlin leaving _now_ would destroy their plan.

As expected, Merlin looked devastated, his shoulders slumped, his eyes… Arthur wanted to curse how expressive Merlin's eyes were. Just one look was a thousand blows.

Arthur could barely stand for looking at him. “Out,” he growled. “Now.”

Merlin left with a wobbly bow, pulling the door gently, so gently closed behind him.

Arthur picked up his goblet again, intending to drink, and found it empty. Of course. This was his life now, empty without Merlin here.

He flung the cup as hard as he could against the door just to hear it shatter.

There. That was one thing in this room that resembled his heart.

It made him feel no better. Merlin still wanted to leave. It was bad enough that Merlin wanted to leave him.

*

With his knights — Merlin's only protection these days — still gone from the castle, Arthur expected the worst kind of trouble. That was the point, after all. He just didn't expect it on this day.

This, another day in council. Another day of Agravaine sitting too close, acting too entitled. Another day of insomnia weighing on his nerves. Not to mention, this was a day that brought news of Morgana. Thoughts of his sister now accompanied a particular ache in Arthur's chest – more family lost.

 _Scraaape_ went the doors. Arthur looked up, wary at the interruption, and sure enough. There was Merek and Ulrich and Tybalt too, with Merlin dragged between them.

Arthur noticed how white-knuckled Tybalt's grasp was. Merlin's slim arms must have been marked now. More aches.

Unceremoniously, Merlin was tossed at Arthur's feet, like he was no more than some petty thief, worse.

"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur snapped. In the back of his mind, he thought — _Gaden_ — and a heaviness cloaked him.

Merek opened his uncouth mouth and out came obsequious threats, the usual.

Arthur was still frowning at him when Merlin spoke up, chin trembling and eyes hot. "I'm not going anywhere near their rooms." Arthur heard the outrage but the implication was lost until Merlin's hands shook and he said, "I'm not going to be on my _own_ with _them_."

Fury ripped through Arthur. _Shoving_. Naively, he'd expected more shoving, or making Merlin carry their armour or stealing Merlin's food, not – not _this_. Don't look back, he heard Gwaine in his head. There was no accompanying wink, no hair flip, just a sad smile.

Arthur steeled himself, rearranged his face. Gaden. They were almost there. Almost to the end.

"You disobeyed them?" He asked briskly, didn't trust his voice to remain steady for long. "Answer me."

"Yes."

Arthur held Merlin's eyes and channelled all of his anger there. Steady, steady. He could make it. He could make it believable still.

But no, he couldn't hold Merlin's eyes, not when they just died, became the flattest blue.

He looked away. "Three lashes for your insolence." He focused on his words. _Almost there_. "Now get out."

Only, of course, he wasn't the only person who loved Merlin. Gaius stepped up, his eyebrows hooked high into his hairline, his hairline as white as a ghost. "Sire, please." The old man huffed, sounding out of breath. And the plea on his face! Arthur couldn't look at him either.

"Three lashes," he interrupted. "And the next person who speaks out will receive the same. And the servant will receive six."

He looked around the room and had the displeasure of seeing Merek and Tybalt and Ulrich, all with varying degrees of smirks on their faces. He glared at them hard. "I don't have _time_ to spare for the misdemeanours of serving boys." This at least he could say.

They shuffled their feet, like giant children scolded. Unfortunately the next person Arthur saw was Agravaine, Agravaine with his beady eyes of disapproval. Arthur had to continue. "The next time, arrange his punishment accordingly."

Only, of course, there was to be no next time. Not if Arthur could help it.

Still, Merlin was to receive three lashes. Agravaine was smiling. The three brutes were free and unpunished. The day was lost.

Arthur watched as Merlin comforted Gaius – of course he would, on the way to his own lashing – and then Merlin squared his shoulders. _Brave, so brave_. Merlin stood tall. Purposely, so very deliberately, he bowed low to Arthur, a proper bow that Arthur had never before witnessed from him.

When Merlin straightened, he stared into Arthur's eyes with unadulterated hate.

 _There_ , Arthur thought, _I've finally done it_.

It made his teeth ache, to say nothing of the rest of him. Viciously, he pressed down on his rings, pressed hard enough to leave a mark for days.

It was barely enough to get through the rest of the council meeting.

*

_Whoosh-crack._

_Whoosh-crack._

_Whoosh-crack._

What was sleep?

*

"Percy's on Merek watch," Gwaine said before Arthur could open his mouth. "Leon's on Ulrich. I've got my eyes on Tybalt. Those bastards are never going to touch Merlin again."

Grimly, Arthur nodded, clasped a grateful hand over Gwaine's shoulder. There was nothing more to say.

*

A knock, light then bolder, brought Arthur out of his haze.

"Enter."

Guinevere curtsied as she opened the door, a basket of laundry held on her hip. "Sire, I was wondering if perhaps, you might have a minute?"

Arthur gestured her in. "Is something wrong?"

"Ye-s," Gwen smoothed her free hand down her skirt and looked everywhere but at Arthur. "What I meant to say - that is, I wanted to tell you that I think," she swallowed down her nerves, which finally alerted Arthur to what this was about. Merlin. Of course. Merlin and Gwen were friends after all.

She shook her curls and finally looked Arthur in the eyes, her browns sad but brave, compassionate, wholly Gwen and everything Arthur loved about her. She licked her lips and attempted to start again. "I think-"

"It's done." Arthur cut in before she could get too far. "I can't take it back." Silently, he pleaded with her not to say anything that _she_ couldn't take back.

Gwen frowned and blinked, swallowing the rest of her sentence. Reluctantly, she dropped to a curtsy again. "My lord."

As the door closed behind her, Arthur spun his quill, thinking.

*

Merlin came to see him three days after the lashing. It was two days earlier than Arthur had expected.

His first glimpse startled him. How was it possible for Merlin to lose even _more_ weight?

Arthur put on his face. By now he was a good and proper thespian, he would say, with so many damn plays behind him. "Why are _you_ here? What do you want?"

Merlin heaved in a breath, his whole frame inflating and deflating like a little bird. Arthur imagined he could see the bones of Merlin's ribs through the thin shirt. "...I've come to resign…"

Arthur heard nothing more. Resignation it was to be then.

He kept his eyes on Merlin as Merlin spoke to the floor, saw Merlin's little swallow as he finished, Merlin's big eyes as he looked up, so wide and so beautiful still.

Arthur leaned back, leaned _all_ the way back in his chair, to give himself some distance, some time to collect his thoughts. Perhaps he wasn't some grand thespian after all.

"You could have told the steward this," he began reciting the lines he wrote weeks ago. "Is there anything else you've neglected to tell me, Merlin?" Arthur hurled the name off his tongue like a dart. He hadn't used it in months outside of his head, where the word curled softer, sweeter, as it should be said.

Merlin jumped, eyes flicking to Arthur's then quickly away. He clenched his hands, as if hiding his palms would hide his magic. _Good._ Now Merlin knew for sure Arthur suspected of his secret. He wouldn't know the how but he knew the if. It was good enough.

"Off you go then. Do make sure I see as little of you as possible," Arthur recited.

Merlin bowed, clumsy in his panic, and fled.

*

They were in the magic reveal phase of the plan now, which required unfortunately, a reveal of magic. And Merlin had become ever so careful. He worked himself ragged without a hint of gold in his eyes.

Days and days passed.

Arthur neglected everything in his pursuit of magical evidence. Agravaine was taking over the court and Arthur let him. His uncle didn't matter. They would settle all of this once he got Merlin back.

He just had to catch Merlin now, just one little slip-up.

He watched and watched.

Finally, one afternoon, with the sun soft on the walls of the castle, Merlin tripped with his arms full of laundry and quickly righted himself. To the casual observer, nothing extraordinary had happened. One servant – clumsy, one basket of laundry – saved.

But Arthur– Arthur knew how Merlin's magic worked. Arthur was watching Merlin's eyes. It took but a flash of gold. One second, perhaps less. Diagnosis: magic.

He called Gwaine into his chambers and pointed to his eyes. "We got him."

Gwaine smiled ruefully. "Off to Ealdor I go. I'll ask Elyan to watch Tybalt."

Arthur hated to say it, but Eylan hadn't been protecting Merlin as he had hoped his knight would. " _I'll_ watch Tybalt. Just go!"

With a nod, Gwaine left. Arthur heard his retreating footsteps then nothing - nothing but silence choking his room.

 _Doom, doom, doom_ , it sounded like.

*

Two slow days of preparations followed. Arthur reexamined the cold iron restraints himself three times. He double checked with Gaden that a cell was set aside, clean and as comfortable as a cell could be. "With a clean bowl of water," Arthur reminded him.

"Aye, sire."

On the third day, Arthur dispatched one of Uther's knights, Fendrel, who felt about magic the way Uther did, to summon Merlin, to rouse him out of his false sense of security.

Merlin walked into the throne room, and it was déjà vu. Merlin was just here not long ago. He looked more lost this time, casting his eyes about, no doubt searching for a friendly face, Gaius or Gwen, neither of whom he was bound to find, neither of whom he would see again for a while.

When Merlin finally made it to the front of the room, he hesitated before lifting his head. Dead dread. Arthur hated the unfamiliar expression on Merlin's face. It hurt worse than blatant hatred. Zero trust then was where they were. Arthur looked just to the left of Merlin. It made it easier to speak.

"Merlin of Ealdor, you stand accused of the crime of sorcery. How do you plead?"

Arthur let the question hang in the air. This knowledge at least he did not have to fake. He knew Merlin had magic. He made Merlin show him how it worked, how much magic he had. He even watched Merlin make a unicorn. It was the crime portion of the accusation he had to make convincing.

Merlin's lower lip trembled. He flicked his eyes up to Arthur's and his Adam's apple worked a nervous bobble. Whatever he found in Arthur's expression made him confess. "-but Sire, I've only used it to _help_ -"

Agravaine's fist came out of nowhere, knocked Merlin hard on the side of his head.

Arthur had to hold onto his throne, dig his fingers in so he wouldn't swing at his uncle. He took in the slight wobble of Merlin, who was already so thin, so worn, so determined not to topple over onto the floor.

Arthur had to wrap this up. _Recite_ , he told himself, _recite_. "You don't even deny your perfidy. Under the law I have no option other than to condemn you to death. You will burn."

"Then Camelot will fall." Merlin surged to his feet, every bit of fight roaring up in him. Arthur nodded to the guards. Merlin was powerful. If they didn't get the cold iron on him in time-

Only they did. And Arthur thought the sound of belt buckle over muscle was bad… Merlin's scream tore right through Arthur's façade. _Help_ , Merlin's whole being projected as his body convulsed.

Help, Arthur almost did, on instinct.

It was Agravaine who unwittingly saved the day with his jab. "Even now the traitor threatens Camelot."

Traitor. That was right. Agravaine was the traitor they had to prove. Arthur schooled his features. "Take him to the dungeons."

Merlin's mouth worked but no words spilled. Tears did instead, plenty of them, as he was dragged out of the room.

Up and down the halls, Merlin's sobs and screams echoed, agony twisted in misery. The sound drilled down to the bones of the castle, down to the bones of Arthur.

Arthur didn't think he would ever forget it as long as he lived.

Only, once the screaming stopped, silence fell like a slap, even more ominous.

*

Gaden ushered him quietly through the dungeon, coming to a stop in front of Merlin's cell.

Merlin was on the pallet, curled under the blanket. His eyes were closed but his eyelids were twitching. His whole body was twitching, as if his magic was trying to escape.

"Let me know as soon as he wakes."

*

Arthur gathered up Gaius and Gwen, both of whom were in their night clothes, and escorted them to the horses awaiting them.

"Sire, forgive me but I don't understand." Gwen wrapped her cloak tighter around her.

Arthur looked at her eyes and Gaius' grave eyebrows. "Gwaine will explain everything once you are out of Camelot." He turned to go only to step back and say, "Give my best to Hunith."

*

Arthur dressed meticulously, pulling on each piece of his ensemble until he was past prince, past knight, and fully the image of a king. He drew his cape about him and adjusted his sword. He even fixed his hair. This was it. This was checkmate.

With purpose and pride – they've finally made it – Arthur marched towards Merlin's cell, two guards behind him.

Merlin looked up at the sound of their approach. He was folded into a corner, half hidden in shadows. His face was so thin but even now so bold with beauty. There was hope there too, and that was Arthur's mission today – to extinguish that hope, burn it, turn it to hatred.

Next to the pallet in the cell, the water bowl glinted. It stood full, untouched. Merlin was too distracted then, too distressed. He hadn't yet noticed the damaged rivet on his shackles either.

Arthur gave himself a moment, to look upon Merlin, to memorise his features. Then he began his speech. "Your accomplices have been stopped in their attempt to rescue you. They have been executed."

Merlin frowned, tilting his head in question. His mouth opened to shut again. "Who?"

"The sorcerer, Gaius – and the maid."

"Gaius? Gwen?" Confusion turned to panic. Merlin unfolded his arms. His fingers spasmed. "You killed – No, no, Arthur, you can’t have."

Arthur took in the incredulous smile at the edge of Merlin's mouth, how it trembled there, fell. 

"Dear Gods, please tell me it’s not true." Merlin leaned forward, as much as his crouch allowed, as much as his shackles allowed.

_One, two, three, four, five_ — Arthur counted in his head and held himself still, silent, expressionless as he could. It was an answer enough.

Merlin's eyes shifted a degree to the right, a degree down. All the lights went out.

Arthur gave him a minute, gave himself a minute, before speaking again.

"I can’t allow traitors to live. I can’t allow someone who brought a sorcerer into being live either."

He waited, waited and watched.

Merlin's eyes flew up to his, their previous dullness sharpened into alarm. "My mother? No. No, you wouldn’t."

When Arthur again said nothing, stood like stone, face stony too, a tear slid down Merlin's cheek and he clenched his fists. "What harm has she ever done you? You bastard, you stinking bastard!" His face contorted, a map of pain and fury, inconsolable grief. "I thought – I thought nothing could ever make me hate you. I’ll never forgive you, Arthur Pendragon."

_Ten, nine, eight, seven, six_ — 

"You'll be executed at dawn."

Merlin got to his feet, his shackles clattering. "I’ll haunt you for the rest of your days and beyond, Pendragon," Merlin raged, his head held high. "You’ll never be free of me. And without me, your land will wither and die. You’ll be forgotten and Camelot will fall into despair and ruin. And it will be your doing, Pendragon, not mine."

_All true. Which is why we had to do this._

Arthur met Merlin's blind fury with his own forced calm. With deliberate movements, he turned on his heel and marched away from Merlin. _One._ Gwaine was ready. _Two._ Arthur was ready. _Three._ Merlin would be ready, too. Soon.

_Fly._

*

It wasn't long before Merlin found the broken rivet, cracked open his shackles with magic, escaped.

Clang, clang, clang went the warning bell.

Arthur cast aside his cape and looked down at the half-built pyre with a smile.

In a few moments, Gwaine would be shouting out wrong directions, to draw pursuit away from Merlin.

_Fly._

*

Merlin came back as Emrys, fierce and vengeful, Morgana beside him. It was exactly as they planned.

"You have my trust." Arthur finally got to say the magic words to Merlin, to break the memory-blocking spell Merlin had cast upon himself.

Only, of course, there were complications, complications that involved him killing Agravaine, complications that involved him lying naked in bed with Merlin skin to skin.

So, some complications were sweeter than others.

Morgana lost her magic, but Camelot gained hers, gained peace. As for Arthur, he got his sister back, little by little. He got Merlin by his side, to rule together, to love.

It was enough. The eight months of torture was worth it in the end. Magic was freed. Merlin was freed.

*

*

*

Arthur runs through the hallways, his composure slipping as his grin stretches his mouth wide. Merlin! Merlin is back.

Merlin's magic guides him along, through the throng of uni students and professors, uni statues and uni trees, and finally-

Merlin's grin matches his, probably _surpasses_ his, as he stands under an archway.

"Come here often?" Arthur regrets his word choice as soon as he hears himself.

But Merlin laughs, loud and carefree. "I like the library. They have Geoffrey's book."

Now it's Arthur's turn to snort as he takes another step forward. "I do miss your hat."

Merlin looks affronted. "You know I hated that hat!"

Arthur's lips quirk. He's close enough, tugs Merlin in by the scarf. "I miss your neckerchief, too."

Merlin surges forward, kisses him first, probably just to shut him up, but honestly Arthur has no complaints. Zero. Merlin kisses him like he has loved Arthur ten thousand years.

"I missed you so much." Merlin's voice cracks.

Arthur gathers him close, crushes them together in a fierce hug. "I'm never leaving you again."

Merlin sputters against his neck, wet and sweet and perfect. "I'm holding you to that, Arthur Pendragon."

"Hold me forever, Merlin, Emrys."

Merlin's arms tighten around his waist. Then Arthur notices the shaking.

"Are you _laughing_ at me?"

Merlin stifles a snort in the junction of his neck. "No." Merlin holds him tighter and says more seriously, "No." He sounds like he might start crying.

Arthur figures life with Merlin will never be devoid of complications. A reincarnated king (only no longer king) and an immortal wizard - they were whom complications were _made_ for. Still, he's back with Merlin, whom he trusts with his life, with _all_ of his lives.

"Hey," he says gently, "I think I'll name your unicorn Daisy."

Merlin finally lets go of him long enough to look him in the eyes. "You still have it?"

"You just gave it to me, _Mer_ lin. Of course I have it."

Merlin grins and kisses him again, slower this time, the lightest press of lips as his hands cradle Arthur's face, like he's trying to make sure Arthur's really here, to anchor him here. 

"Do you want me to make it real?" Merlin asks when they break apart. "Do you think this world can handle a unicorn?"

Arthur has to smile. This is Merlin, the greatest wizard the world has known, lover of butterflies and unicorns, his lover. " _You're_ real," Arthur says and stops himself from saying anything more embarrassing like you're all the magic that I need, (even though it's true).

"You're all this world can handle," he says instead.

Merlin snorts, a blush creeping high on his cheeks. He's so lovely.

Arthur can hardly believe they're both here, back to the start, back to a _new_ start. But then again this is Merlin, so of course he believes, with all his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Cookie, it was a joy to be assigned to be your remixer. This is probably the hardest thing I've done writing-wise because of the subject matter. But I saw you requested a remix of 'Falls the Shadow' last year as well, so wanted to try if I could. And then I read and loved your story so so much. I hope this does it a tiny, tiny bit of service. <3
> 
> Title/lyrics are from “The Scientist” by Coldplay.


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